


Oh, It's You

by loveadoodle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Soulmates AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3474335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveadoodle/pseuds/loveadoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because they're a match, doesn't mean they have to like each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Don't Want to Fall In Love

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt from tumblrian ihartbennyc.

Molly sat in the large, leather chair and tried not to fidget.  This was it.  Today was the day she had to register her Mark.  She had put this off for as long as possible, but, alas, it simply had to be done.  This time tomorrow, she would have to meet her soulmate.  They’d endure the required six months of courting, and then they’d be married.  They’d settle down, and spend the rest of their lives together.  That’s what was supposed to happen.

She shuddered at the thought.  How could she be expected to spend the rest of her life with a person she barely knew?  How could a tiny mark on her hip determine who she was to love?  Before she could sink deeper into her thoughts, she heard the receptionist call her name.  Molly stood, took a deep breath, and walked into the room.

* * *

 

Sherlock let out a loud sigh as he walked along the sidewalk.  Normally, he would have taken a cab, but, today, he wished to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.  He had managed to avoid registering his Mark for years now, and he had hoped that having the British government as his older brother would have allowed an exemption for him.  However, it only made it more pertinent for him to enter the system. 

Sherlock didn’t do sentiment let alone marriage.  It was a foolish game for halfwits.  Now, he was going to be forced into a union with a random person.  He would be saddled down with one person for the rest of his life.  The very thought of this made him nauseous. 

He was so deep in thought, Sherlock failed to notice the petite woman until she ran right into him.  She stumbled back, apologizing profusely.  He recognized her from St. Bart’s.  He had worked with her on occasion, and she had proven herself to be the best of all the other pathologists.  She worked efficiently, and always delivered satisfactory results.  She did have a tendency to babble while he tried to work, but he found that it didn’t bother him as much as it would have if it were anyone else.

“One apology was sufficient,” he said in an even voice.

Molly looked up quickly and recognized him immediately.  It was the detective that frequented the lab and morgue.  He had spoken barely a word to her in the year that he had been coming to the hospital.  Most of the time, it was to demand that she run a test for him or analyze some results for him or fetch coffee for him.  He never even listened when she tried talking to him. 

“Oh, it’s you.  So sorry about that, I wasn’t really paying attention,” she apologized again. 

“Oh it’s quite alright.  You have every right to be distracted, seeing as you have just registered your Mark.  In a short time, you’ll be meeting your _soulmate_ ,” he spat out, as though the word was venom.  “You must be so excited,” he deadpanned.

“Quite the opposite, actually.  I’d give anything to get out of this,” she replied with a sigh.

“Really?  Aren’t women keen on finding that _special someone_ to marry up and settle down?” the detective asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Some women, maybe, but I am certainly not one of them.  I’m in no hurry to find a man and move to the country and raise a family.  There’s still so much I  want to do, and there is simply no time for marriage,” she answered in a clipped tone.

“Yes, sentiment is quite inconvenient.  It gets in the way of everything.  It’s best to remain unencumbered; it reduces the amount of trouble sentiment can bring,” Sherlock agreed.

“I’m not as cynical as that; I do want to find somebody eventually, but not like this,” Molly responded quickly.  “It’s utterly absurd to let one little blemish on your skin decide who you’re going to spend the rest of your life with.  If and when I do get married, I want it to be because I want to, not because someone said I have to, and I want it to be with the man I love, not a stranger.”

“Love is just a chemical defect.  It rarely lasts very long, and, eventually, you will be left loveless and alone.  Love is rarely worth the trouble,” he stated airily with a wave of his hand.

“Well, Mr. Holmes, I’m very sorry you feel that way,” the pathologist replied, looking directly at him.  “Love is very important, and not just romantic love.  Having the people you love around you means that you’ll never be alone.  There will always be someone there for you.  I don’t think I could live like that, all alone without love, I mean. You must be awfully lonely.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed at this.  He opened his mouth to say something, but he was at a loss for words.

Molly looked at her watch.  “I’ve got to go.  I’ll be late for my shift at the hospital.  I’ll be seeing you.”  With that, she brushed past him and hurried on her way.

“I’m not lonely,” he said to no one in particular.  But was that really true?  Her words swirled in his head.  He shook his head, clearing his mind of Molly Hooper.  With another sigh, he climbed up the steps and into the building.

* * *

 

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair in frustration.  “I refuse to go through with this.”

“Brother, dear, the least you could do is sit through one meeting with her before you callously reject her,” Mycroft drawled, enjoying the pained look on his brother’s face.

It had taken all of  one week for Sherlock’s match to be found.  When his brother first told him of the match, he had steadfastly refused to meet the person with whom he shared a Mark.  However, Molly Hooper’s words echoed through his mind palace.  He had been confused as to why the words of a woman he barely knew had such an effect on him, but he had decided it was because she was so completely wrong.  He was not lonely.  He had his work; that was all he needed.  However, after a week of restless nights, he finally relented.  He would meet with his _soulmate_.  It would help him prove to himself that love was entirely unnecessary in his life. 

There was a knock on the door.  The men rose as the door opened and Anthea ushered in the woman who had been found to be Sherlock’s soulmate.  His eyes widened a bit in surprise.  Standing in front of them was none other than Molly Hooper. 

He quickly schooled his features.  “Miss Hooper, this is a surprise,” he greeted her.

“We’ll just leave the two of you to it then,” Mycroft said as he maneuvered himself and Anthea to the door.

Molly couldn’t believe that Sherlock was the man she had been waiting to meet.  She couldn’t believe that this was the man with whom she had been matched.  She suppressed a hysterical giggle at the irony of the situation.  In truth, he’d always fascinated her.  She’d always admired him and was really quite…infatuated with him.  How many times had she sat at her desk and daydreamed about him?  How many days had she secretly anticipated his arrival in the lab?  He really was an attractive man but it had always been his intelligence that really caught her interest.  It was therefore incredibly unfortunate that the man was a gigantic arse.

Sherlock ran his long fingers through the thick, curly mass of hair on his head.  She wanted to replace his hands with her own.  “Molly…” he began. 

“Well, Mr. Holmes, I think we’ve both made our positions on this whole matter quite clear.  I really don’t think there’s much need for this.  We can just tell your important brother out there that we’ve come to an understanding. We really should forego any farce of a courtship,” she stated crisply. “I’m sure that you have no interest in dating me. And I really don’t have an interest in wasting time with you either,” pride made her add.

“It would indeed be a waste of time seeing as I feel absolutely no attraction for you, physical or otherwise.  I will inform my brother of our decision.”  With this, brushed past her and made his way to the door to fetch his brother.

Molly let out a huff of indignation.  No attraction indeed.  The very thought of having to spend another moment with him, let alone the rest of her life with him, made her cringe.  She looked up when she heard Mycroft and his PA enter the room. 

“Mycroft, Miss Hooper and I have come to the conclusion that a union between the two of us is quite undesirable.  I think it would be in the best interests of both parties if we were to go forgo the mandatory six months of courtship,” Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

“Brother dear, I am afraid that is simply impossible.  You know that the law mandates that all soulmates must spend at least six months in courtships before any decision on the union can be made,” his brother replied with a look of false apology.

“You’re the British government, surely you can find a way around such a law,” the detective argued, his voice nearly a whine.

“All the more reason for you to go through with this.  How would it look if the brother of the ‘British government’ did not follow the law?”

“I don’t see how that affects me,” Molly finally spoke up.  “I have absolutely no desire to partake in any sort of romantic pursuit.” 

“Miss Hooper, you are bound by law to partake in this romantic pursuit,” the older man replied coolly.  “However, the law only requires that the two parties meet at least once a month.  Surely the two of you can endure spending six days together over the course of six months.”

The two glared at one another for a brief moment, silently agreeing to the terms.

“Very well, we will spend one day of each month for the next six months together.  After this, we will go our separate ways.  Does this arrangement suit you, Miss Hooper?” Sherlock asked.

“I guess this is the best course of action,” she replied.  Turning to Mycroft, she added, “Will this pacify you and the law?”

“Perfect,” Mycroft agreed.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other business to attend to.”  With that, he and Anthea swept out of the room, leaving the two alone again.

“This arrangement will not affect our professional relationship, of course.  We will still work together on cases and such.  I find that you are the only person remotely qualified to work with me.”

“I’m flattered Mr. Holmes,” Molly said with an exaggerated curtsey.  “Now, I have to get back to Bart’s.  I’ll call you when my shift is over, and we can discuss the details of our little deal.”  With that she walked out the door.

Sherlock sighed.  Six days.  Six dates.  How bad could it possibly be?


	2. Of Bullets and Battle Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all first dates go according to plan. At least this one ended with a bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long. College is a bitch and so is writer's block.

John tried very hard not to laugh out loud as Sherlock explained his situation.  "Oh you _do_ have a soulmate.  I thought you didn’t have one because you have no soul," he joked when his best friend finished recounting his tale of woe.

"John, this is no laughing matter.  I am being forced to court a woman with whom I am barely acquainted, a woman who is supposedly meant for me.  The very idea is laughable.  How can two people be destined to be together?  Who determines who is paired with whom?" the detective queried as he continued his pacing.

"I know it's weird to think about, but it always seems to work out.  I was skeptical about it at first, but then I met Mary.  I didn't think there was any way it could work out with someone I've barely met, but something just clicked.  Just give it a chance with this Molly.  It just might work out.  If not, you don't have to get married.  There _are_ ways to get around that, especially with your brother being who he is," John reasoned. 

"That would be a waste of time.  She and I will meet once a month for the next six months and then have nothing to do with each other.  It's neater this way," Sherlock responded.

"What about for cases?  She's the most capable pathologist; you said so yourself."

"Our professional arrangement will remain unaffected.  I will continue to go to Bart's for cases, and she will continue to assist me on said cases," the detective explained.

"And everything remains perfect for you.  I can see why _you_ like this arrangement so much," John mumbled.  "So what are you doing for your first date?"

"She and I will alternate who gets to decide what to do on each 'date.'  I will be arranging our first meeting," the taller man explained.  "We're meeting tonight, actually.  All I have to do is figure out what to do.  How does a quick walk in the park with a bit of fish and chips sound?"

"Are you even going to _try_ to put some thought into this?"

Sherlock just rolled his eyes.  Just then, his phone went off, indicating a text.  After seeing the sender, Sherlock's eyes lit up.  "Ah, a case from Lestrade.  Looks to be at least a seven, maybe an eight.  I need to go the Yard immediately."

"Don't you have a date to worry about?" John reminded. 

"Oh, I'll work something out," the detective replied with a gleam in his eye.

* * *

"You should have told me we were going to such a nice restaurant.  I'm completely underdressed," Molly whispered harshly as she tugged on the hem of her navy blue frock.  "And don't you think this is a bit excessive for a first date, especially since this thing isn't going to go anywhere?" she asked, gesturing between the two of them.

"Hmm?  Oh it's fine.  I'll pay for it," Sherlock answered absentmindedly.  With a dismissive wave of his hand, he turned his attention back to a table their right.

"Is something wrong?  You seem really distracted," Molly asked, turning her head to see what had been keeping his attention.

"What?  No, there's nothing," he assured her, turning in the other direction.  "Oh, and here’s our food."

Unsatisfied with his answer, she craned her neck to see what Sherlock had been staring at.  There was an elderly couple perched happily by the window holding hands and oblivious to the rest of the world.  Couldn't be them.  There was a lone man glancing obsessively at his watch, a bouquet of red roses rested on the table beside the candles.  Not him.  Then there was the table with the two men dressed to the nines in designer suits.  Bulges in there suit jackets indicated that they were more heavily armed than anyone else presently at the restaurant.  Definitely them.

"So what's the deal with those two, anyway?  Are they the two heads of two different organized crime families? Has one of them killed the son of the other?  Are they meeting here now to settle the score?"

"Yes, actually.  How did you do that?" the detective responded, looking a bit surprised.

"Oh my gosh," Molly hissed.  "I wasn't being serious.  What are the chances that we're on a date in the same place where two mob lords are about to kill each other?" 

She shot another look towards the two men at the same time one of them looked over in their direction.  There was a brief moment when time seemed to stand still before they realized that they had been made.  With a slight yelp, Molly ducked under the table before both men reached for their weapons and started firing haphazardly toward them.  Men from the surrounding tables pulled out their weapons and joined the action.

Molly turned to shout something at Sherlock only to find that he was gone.  People were running every which way.  Tables were being overturned.  Bullets were whizzing by and ricocheting off walls.  It was utter chaos.  There was a loud crash above her as a man came down hard on the table. 

Suddenly, sirens could be heard over the cacophony of the firefight.  Soon, doors were kicked down, and officers from the Yard came barreling in, guns blazing.  There was more shouting and tables flipping as the officers subdued the gunmen.  After what seemed to be an eternity, a familiar face came into view.  DI Lestrade thrust the handcuffed man he was escorting to the nearest subordinate and walked over to Molly, a look of concern on his face.

"Molly, you're bleeding," he said as he reached for her.  For the first time, Molly noticed the shooting pain in her arm.  "I need a medic here!" Lestrade shouted.

"I'm fine," the pathologist said as she got to her feet.  She winced painfully as she moved her arm.  "I'm totally alright."

Lestrade took Molly's statement as the medics patched her up.  "Thank you, Molly.  I'm sorry you had to be here for something like this."

"Oh, it's not your fault.  I just happened to be here at the wrong place at the very wrong time," she reassured him.

As he helped her down from the back of the ambulance, Sherlock sauntered over.  "Was the bust successful, Gareth?"

Greg rolled his eyes, not bothering to correct the mistake.  "Yeah. Thanks to you, we have the heads of the two most dangerous crime families in London.  We've solved a murder and taken down the mob in one day.  I'd say that's a record.  Thanks for all the help.  We couldn't have done it without your tip about where they would be."  With a slap on the back, the detective inspector walked off toward the rest of his team.

"So, tonight was quite the exciting evening."  Sherlock turned to his date to find her practically foaming at the mouth.  "Is something wrong?"

"You knew that two of the most dangerous men in all of London were going to be here tonight?  You knew, and you didn't even have the decency to tell me?" the petite woman seethed through gritted teeth.

"Was that not good?" the detective questioned, genuinely confused.

"'Not good?'  This was very 'not good.'  I was shot because of you."  Her voice was dangerously low.

 "Oh, it won't scar, and if it did, you'd have quite the story to tell.  Besides, I thought you would have enjoyed dinner at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city."

"We didn't even have dinner!  Our food barely came out before I had to hide under a table while there was a shootout like an old Western movie!  I know neither of us wanted to do this, but I had no idea you would try to get me killed to get out of it!"  At this point, she was shouting hysterically, gesturing her arms wildly.

"I was not trying to get you killed.  I was merely trying to make the most of this 'date,'" he explained.

"'Make the most of this date?!?!'"

"Yes.  I figured I may as well use this date to solve a crime, and now, two very dangerous men are off the streets and two crime syndicates will be taken down.  It was a very productive evening."

Molly was speechless.  This man had nearly gotten her killed, yet he showed absolutely no remorse for it.  She had nothing left to say to him.  With a growl, she shoved Sherlock to the side with a surprising amount of force and made her way home.  If she never saw that man again, it would be too soon.


	3. Curry and Caterwauling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to get out. Writer's block really sucks. I really hope this is ok. I have started the next chapter already, so, hopefully, it won't take as long.

Molly was angry.  No.  She was raging.  "Can you believe the nerve of that prick?  He nearly gets me killed and doesn't even have the decency to be sorry.  I swear I could kill him," she fumed as she chopped carrots with excessive force.  "If I ever see him again…" she added, waving her knife around menacingly. 

Meena leaned back a bit, slightly fearing for her safety.  "Don't you still have to see him at least five more times since, you know, he's your soulmate?"

"I'm pretty sure there's an exemption for when your soulmate tries to kill you," Molly answered, bringing her knife down so hard, it stuck into the cutting board.

"What about Bart's?  Isn't he always there?"

"I'll have him banned.  I'll say that he steals things from the fridge and runs unauthorized and dangerous experiments.  There's no way he'll be allowed back."

"So you're going to lie about all that just so you don't have to see him again?"

"Who's lying?  He really does that stuff; I just always looked the other way."  Before Molly could continue, her phone rang.  Seeing that it was a government number, she quickly answered.

"Hello, Miss Hooper.  I'm very sorry for your unfortunate meeting with my brother last night," came the voice on the other end.

"Mr. Holmes, I must insist that we terminate the standing arrangement.  I have no desire to see Sherlock Holmes ever again," Molly announced.

"And what reasons to you have for such a demand?"

"Your brother nearly got me killed.  I don't think I need any other reasons," she answered pointedly.

"I'm afraid that is not a valid reason.  A single bad date is hardly enough to warrant an exemption from the required six-month courtship.  I'm afraid you will have to continue with your arrangement until the six months are up or a more pressing reason presents itself," Mycroft explained coolly.  "However, if you feel the need to perhaps get even with him, you _do_ have the choice of the next date, and I am aware of everything that my brother detests most in this world."

Molly thought about this for a bit.  If the law was forcing her to continue this little charade, she may as well have some fun with it.  "Fine, Mr. Holmes.  I will call you later to discuss the details of the next meeting."  With that, she promptly hung up the phone.

"So you're still going to see him?" Meena asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Apparently, attempted murder isn't enough to get out of the six-month forced union.  But, if I have to go through with this, I'm going to make the most of it."

"What are you planning?"

"I'm going to have my revenge," Molly replied, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

* * *

Sherlock shot a sideways glance at Molly as she absentmindedly looked out the window.  They were riding to the location of their date in silence.  He was a bit surprised that she had agreed to even come after the disaster a month ago.  After a long talk with John, Sherlock had concluded that it was, indeed, not good to put somebody in danger and not warn them about it.  Why, then, did Molly Hooper seem so unfazed, maybe even a bit excited to go on this date?  Perhaps John was wrong.  Perhaps women were more open-minded and forgiving than John believed.  Perhaps Molly Hooper was not as bad as he originally thought.

"So glad you could find it in you to forgive me," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he kept his eye facing forward.

"Mmmm?  Oh, uh, well, the government wasn't really going to take no for an answer," the brunette replied not bothering to turn to him.  "Besides, I think I'll really enjoy tonight," she added, a mischievous smirk creeping onto her face.

At that moment, the car came to a stop, and the driver announced that they had arrived. 

Molly opened the door and turned to face Sherlock.  "I hope you like Indian food," she said with a megawatt smile.  With that, she climbed out of the car.

Sherlock froze.  Did she really just say Indian food?  Now Sherlock was _not_ a picky eater by any means.  He found it necessary to be able to adapt to any situation, and that included being able to eat anything.  However, there was something about Indian food that never sat right with him.  What were the odds that Molly had chosen the one cuisine that he could not handle.  That smile she'd just given him now seemed quite unnerving.  Steeling himself for the inevitable storm to come, Sherlock stepped out of the car.

* * *

 The ride to the date's secondary location was an uncomfortable one for Sherlock.  Dinner was definitely not sitting well with him.  He had tried ordering the mildest curry they had, but it was impossible to find anything on the menu with anything less than three chili peppers next to it.  Even the water had been spicy.  Of course Molly had found the place that served the most authentic Indian food.

The car stopped abruptly pitching Sherlock forward. 

"We're here," Molly announced with another bright smile.

Sherlock felt his stomach flip for the second time that night when he saw where they were.  They had stopped in front of an old theater known for putting on amateur plays, especially musicals. 

There were many things in life that Sherlock could not tolerate, and musical theater was very high on that list.  He simply abhorred mindless drivel.  All of these asinine, unrealistic stories delivered in song.  It was repulsive.  Did Molly really wish to spend the remainder of the date watching a musical?  He quickly scrambled out of the car after Molly.

"What exactly do you have planned for the rest of the evening, Miss Hooper?" he inquired, hoping that this was not actually part of the plan.

"It's 'doctor' actually, and I thought you were some kind of deductive genius.  Can you really not figure out what we're about to do here, standing in front of a theater."

"Apologies, _Dr._ Hooper.  I can see that we are in front of theater.  I merely thought you, a pragmatic, sensible woman of science, would want to spend time in a more constructive manner."

"I happen to enjoy a good musical, and this one happens to be my favorite," Molly countered.

"And what exactly _are_ we watching tonight?"

" _Les Miserables_."

The detective blinked, not sure if he had heard correctly.  Of course her favorite musical happened to be the musical bane of his existence.  This entire night seemed to have gone against him as if Molly had specifically chosen everything to make him miserable.  Of course she had.  This was her way of punishing him for the disaster that was their first date.  This was why Molly had seemed excited for the evening.  She was looking forward to torturing him. 

Sherlock knew he should be furious at her for her duplicitous scheme, but he could help but feel a bit of admiration for the way she had chosen to exact her revenge.  The sound of his name being called pulled Sherlock out of his reverie.  He looked to see Molly waving him over to enter the theater.  Suddenly, that admiration was gone and was replaced by great contempt.  Sherlock prepared himself for his impending agony. 

* * *

 Molly gave a frustrated huff.  The evening had gone according to plan; everything they had done had made Sherlock completely miserable.  Apparently, Sherlock had decided to ruin Molly's evening as well.  He had dedicated his time to shifting restlessly in his seat and commenting loudly about every flaw he found in the musical.  She had spent the last two and half hours listening to him gripe of the improbability of the plot. 

"He recognizes him from the way he lifts something instead of recognizing his face?"

"What exactly is she dying of?"

"This movie is supposed to be a representation of the June rebellion, but it's common knowledge that it was quashed in two days.  The outcome is going to be no surprise."

"How can he say that life without her is meaningless if his whole life up until now has been without her, and he only saw her for a mere second?" 

"Why does she continue to do these things for him if she gets nothing from him in return?" 

"It was just a piece of bread, why can't he just let it go?" 

"Why would they trust this man with such an important task if they barely knew him?" 

"How does no one realize that she is female?"

Molly swore that if he said one more word, she would smack him upside the head. 

She saw Sherlock shift again in his chair, and she knew he was preparing his next, extremely loud remark.  Molly readied herself for the oncoming commentary.  Instead, Sherlock bound from his seat and sprinted for the exit leaving Molly confusedly blinking after him.  When all the actors had taken their last bows and the curtains finally fell, Molly left the theater and craned her neck to find Sherlock, but he was nowhere to be found.  Had he really had enough and abandoned her before the end of the date?  She certainly had not expected that extreme of a reaction from him.  At least she had succeeded exacting her revenge.  Shrugging, she made her way to the black car waiting to take her home. 

* * *

 John let out a hearty guffaw.  "So you just ran out?"

Sherlock sighed.  Why did he bother telling his best friend anything?  "Yes, John.  I ran out of the theater without looking back."

"You made it to the toilet at least.  Right?"

Sherlock decided not to dignify that question with a response.  "Why are you finding so much joy in my predicament?  This woman deviously planned an entire evening to make me suffer," Sherlock huffed, his voice very near a whine.

"Well, you did have it coming.  Anyway, there's really not much you can do," his friend replied.

"Oh but John, there _is_ something I can do.  After all, two can play at this game," Sherlock stated, a wicked smirk forming on his lips.


	4. Honey Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that it took me so long to get this chapter up.  I had one personal crisis after another that I was working through, and this sort of fell by the wayside.  But I'm back, and I am determined to see this through to the end for anyone still following this story.  I promise I already have the rest of the story outlined and ready, and the next chapter is already in the works.  Sorry again, and I hope you enjoy.

"You're taking her where?" John asked, not sure if he had heard right.  All month, he had listened to Sherlock try to come up with a plan to torture Molly as much as she had tortured him during their last encounter.  The detective had spouted out countless ideas nonstop, yet none of them seemed to be evil enough. 

"To an apiary, John.  Weren't you listening?"

"That's it?  You spent an entire month plotting, planning, and scheming different ways to get back at her, and that's what you come up with?"

"We'll be outside in the summer heat wearing bulky, stuffy beekeeping suits surrounded by bees and other insect life.  Women hate that sort of thing.  Don't they?" Sherlock explained.

"I don't know about Molly, but I certainly wouldn't want to spend an entire afternoon doing that with you," John conceded.  "Where is this apiary exactly?"

"It's on the Sussex Downs.  I know the owner.  I helped him determine who was stealing his honey from the formation in which the bees were flying, and he said that I could come visit any time."

“So you’re going to drive all the way out there just to make Molly look at bees?”  John cocked an eyebrow at his best friend.  This seemed like a pretty absurd plan, but Sherlock _was_ the genius, so perhaps there was something he was missing.  "Alright, if that's the best you could come up with.  Best of luck to you and your ‘trying to torment your soulmate’ scheme.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go home to wife, whom I love and would never subject to such treatment."

* * *

Molly blinked rapidly, trying to keep her eyes from drying out.  She had been on the road with Sherlock for what seemed like an eternity, and Sherlock had refused to put the top of the convertible up. 

“Where exactly are we going?” she shouted over the roar of the engine and the rush of the wind.

“You’ll see when we get there,” he answered, staring straight ahead.

“Can you at least put the top up?” Molly huffed as she tried in vain to pull her hair from her face. 

Sherlock didn’t even try to hide his satisfied smirk.  The fact was he was quite uncomfortable.  His lips were chapped, his normally perfectly tousled hair was now a tangled mess, he was sweating so profusely his shirt was now clinging to his back, and no amount of blinking could restore moisture to his severely dried eyes.  But it was all worth it as long as Molly was just as uncomfortable.  Sherlock was determined to make her suffer as much as possible.

Molly rolled her eyes seeing the pleasure Sherlock was getting out of the situation.  She also knew full well that the detective was suffering just as much as she was.  Talk about cutting off the nose to spite the face.  Such self destructive behavior could not be healthy. 

After a while longer spent in silence, Sherlock pulled the car to a stop in front of a quaint, little cottage.  While it was obvious that the little house was old, it had been well cared for.  It had been freshly painted a soft yellow.  The grass in the yard was neatly manicured.  There were fresh, brightly colored flowers everywhere.  Molly couldn’t help but feel warm and welcome.  As soon as the exited the car, an older couple came rushing out of the cottage towards them.

“Sherlock!  You’re finally here.  We thought you’d never get here!” the elderly woman exclaimed as she wrapped the detective in a warm hug.  She was rather petite and had to pull Sherlock down quite a ways for the hug.  Her short auburn hair was streaked with wisps of silver.

“It’s good to see you again.”  The older man clapped Sherlock on the back after he was released from the embrace.  His smile was wide and emphasized the lines on his face.  He was slightly shorter than Sherlock, and his grey hair was styled in a very Cary Grant-esque manner. 

“Dr. Hooper, this is Penny and Alfred Haverford,” Sherlock said as he gestured to the couple.  “This is Molly Hooper.”

“It’s so nice to meet you both,” Molly greeted them with a warm smile.

“Well come on inside, you two.  Sherlock, we’ve prepared the guest room for you.”  Penny ushered them into the cottage.

“We won’t be needing a room.  We’re just here for the afternoon,” Sherlock interjected.  “Do show us to the bees.”

With a shrug, Alfred lead the party toward a little shed in the field near where the hives stood.  As they made their way there, Penny pointed out the different types of flowers in bloom to Molly.  Once there, he began handing out protective gear to everyone. 

“Oh, I think I’ll just take the hat and veil if that’s alright.  The gloves can make delicate hand working difficult,” Molly explained. 

“Of course,” Alfred replied, replacing the suit he had offered her back onto the shelf.  “I take it you’ve dealt with bees before?”

“Oh yes.  Apiculture was one of my father’s great passions.  He actually maintained an apiary in Northamptonshire, and he thought me how to care for it.”

“Well then, I think you’ll really appreciate what you’re going to see today.”

* * *

 Hours later found them meandering through field between the hives.  It was rather sunny and warm, but Molly didn’t mind it in the least.  Being out here among the beehives, smelling the sweet fragrance of the flowers, feeling the tickle of the bees crawling on her arm reminded her of her childhood, of the days before she lost the greatest man she ever knew.  Tending to these hives made her miss him a little bit less. 

“You two certainly chose the perfect time for a visit.  This is when the bees make the best honey,” Alfred explained, carefully extracting a bit of honey for Molly to taste.  “The honey is extra sweet thanks to Penny’s gorgeous flowers,” he added, beaming at his wife.

“These are _Apis mellifera ligustica_ ,” Molly observed.  “My father kept _Apis mellifera mellifers_.  Everyone told him they were too defensive and prone to brood diseases, but I think that’s what made keep at it.  He wanted to prove that he could do it.”

“Did he have much trouble maintaining them?”

“We did have an incident with parasitic mite syndrome, but we were able to salvage the colony,” Molly explained. 

“That is impressive.  A few of my friends tried their hand at raising German bees, but the whole swarm absconded after a pretty bad foulbrood.”

“Well, it wasn’t easy, but Dad was pretty determined,” Molly replied somewhat wistfully.  

Alfred offered a kind smile.  “Come, I think you’ll really appreciate this,” he said, leading her to another part of the field. 

Sherlock was taken aback by the exchange he had just witnessed.  He hadn’t expected Molly to actually enjoy herself.  He’d never admit it, but Sherlock was just a tiny bit impressed by Molly’s intimate knowledge of a field he himself found very interesting.  This was not going according to plan. 

“She’s quite beautiful,” Penny whispered when the pathology was out of earshot. 

“I guess her face does have a certain symmetry that others would find pleasing,” Sherlock conceded.

“You should be nicer to her.  After all, she _is_ your soulmate, and you’ve barely spoken to her.”

“Why should I be?  She and I have an agreement to see each other once a month for the next four month.  Nowhere in that arrangement does it state that I must be ‘nice’ to her.”

“Oh Sherlock, you may not realize I yet, but you and Molly share something special.  It may take you a while, but you’ll see.”

At that moment, they were interrupted by the sound of Molly’s laughter.  Looking up, Sherlock saw Molly, her head thrown back laughing brightly at something Alfred had said or done.  The sun framed her in a way that made her glow in a way that gave Sherlock pause.  On her face was a look of sheer joy, not a bit of the contempt that she usually wore when she was around him.  She was soft and bright and happy, all things he had never associated with her.  Sherlock shook himself from his reverie, reminding himself of their agreement.  He walked over to where the rest of the party had gathered. 

“Well, we should be leaving now,” Sherlock annouced.

“But we’ve only just gotten here,” Molly protested.

“We’ve actually been here for four hours and 28 minutes,” he informed her.  “It’s getting late. We should be on our way.”

“At least stay for a spot of tea,” Alfred insisted.

“Oh please, Sherlock.  We bought your favorite biscuits for today,” Penny chimed in.

With a resigned sigh, Sherlock nodded in agreement and motioned for the older couple to lead the way.  Soon, they were all settled around a little table just outside the cottage.  From their vantage point, they could see the entire field. 

“It’s really beautiful out here,” Molly marveled taking in a deep breath of fresh air.  “The sky is so clear and the flowers smell divine and the air is so crisp.”

Sherlock huffed, staring his phone.  “You don’t get any service out here.”

“That’s why we moved out here.  I used to come out here all the time when I was a little girl.  After we retired, I knew this was where we should settle down,” Penny explained.  She casted a sweeping gaze over the field, a look of contentment gracing her face.

“She practically dragged me our here and forced me to become a beekeeper,” Alfred joked.  “But honestly, I don’t care what I do; as long as Penny is here with me, I’ll be the happiest man on Earth.” 

The look on his face told Molly that he was being sincere.  He looked at Penny as though his whole world rested with her, as though there was no one else on Earth that he would rather spend the rest of his life with.  She could tell that Penny felt the same way.  Molly knew this was something she and Sherlock would never share, and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of hurt. 

“That’s so sweet,” Molly sighed.  “How long have you two been together?”

“Going on 52 years,” the older man replied.  “It sounds like a long while, but, if you’re with the right person, time just flies by, and you realize you’ll never have enough time.”

“Speaking of time, I think we’ve taken up enough of yours.  Molly and I really should get going,” Sherlock announced.  He stood and stared expectantly at Molly.

“He’s right.  It’s getting dark, and we have a bit of a drive ahead of us,” Molly agreed, rising to stand with Sherlock.

 “Oh, alright.  I suppose it _is_ getting late,” Penny conceded.

The group slowly made their way to Sherlock’s parked car.  Sherlock immediately climbed in, while Molly stayed to exchange final goodbye hugs. 

“You have to promise to come visit again soon,” Penny cooed.

“I’ll certainly try my best,” Molly promised.

“It was a pleasure working with you, Molly,” Alfred added, helping the pathologist into the car.

“Likewise.  I do hope we can do this again,” she replied with a smile.

Sherlock huffed impatiently.  “Come, Molly.  I really should be getting back to all my neglected work,” he called from the driver’s seat. 

Molly resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she gave them one last wave and shut the door.  Sherlock hurriedly turned the key in the ignition.  Nothing happened.  He tried again.  Still nothing.  On the third attempt, the engine let out a mangled whine then died.  The detective let out a defeated sigh. 

“It would appear as though we will be here a while longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be a second part to this chapter; it was just getting too long so I split it into two parts.


	5. Honey Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, it’s a new chapter that didn’t take a year to be finished. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

 

Molly stood awkwardly in the doorway of the small room.  There was only enough space for one small bed, a chair, and a small table.  A single lamp and small vase adorned the table, and the bed was fitted with a single sheet and had two pillows that seemed to have been embroidered by hand.

“What are the chances that the Haverfords’ phone would be broken on the day that we needed it?”

“Yes.  That _was_ convenient, wasn’t it?” Sherlock replied in an accusatory tone.

Molly stared at him in disbelief.  “You can’t possibly think that _I_ am responsible for this?!?!”

“I certainly wouldn’t put it beneath you, especially after what happened during our last encounter.”

This time, Molly didn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes.  “Fine, that was intentionally done by me, but, this time, I had nothing to do with the misfortune that has fallen upon you.  Now, there’s use brooding about this situation.  We’re stuck here until the morning when Alfred can take a look at the car.  There’s nothing we can do about it.  I don’t like this any more than you do, so let’s just be civil for the night.”  Molly offered her hand as a gesture of compromise. 

Sherlock begrudgingly took her hand, releasing in the next moment.  “I suppose I could take the chair for the night,” he offered.

Molly smirked at this.  “Since when are you a gentleman?”

“Since the only other option would be to share a tiny bed with you,” came his quick reply.

This time, Molly had to fight the compelling urge to punch the man right in his pretty face.  She took a calming breath.  “As much as I would love to see you try to sleep in that child-sized chair, I can’t make you do that.  Sharing the bed will be fine, as long as you stay on your side of the bed.”

Sherlock wanted to protest, but he knew there was no way he’d be able to sleep on the hard, wooden chair.  “Fine.  As long as we remain on separate sides, the bed will be adequate.”

Molly turned to leave.  “Penny said she’d find some clothes for us to wear to sleep.  I’ll grab them while you get ready,” she called. 

She made her way to the kitchen.  The cottage was small but comfortable.  It was evident that the dwelling was old, but it was very well taken care of.  The wallpaper was a soft yellow that made Molly reminded her own childhood in Northamptonshire.  She sighed as she thought of the days she spent adventuring outside, helping her father with the apiary, and coming home to find a delicious treat waiting for her along with a hug from her mum.  She smiled at the nostalgia.  She found Penny waiting for her at the kitchen table. 

“Here you go, dear, some fresh clothes for you and Sherlock,” she offered, holding out a pile of clothes for Molly to take.  “Nothing fancy, but it’s better than those clothes you’ve been wearing all day.”

Molly accepted the old t-shirts and pajama bottoms.  “This will be just fine.  Thank you so much.”  She looked around the cozy kitchen.  Everything seemed so homey and warm.  “You have a beautiful home.  It reminds me of my girlhood home.”

“Thank you dear.  Alfie didn’t like it here at first; he’s always been more of a city man, but he said, for me, he’d move to Mars.  It took a while, but he got used to it and even ended up loving it here as much as I do.”

That pang Molly had felt earlier struck her again.  She didn’t understand why she would feel this way.  She had always told herself that this whole notion of “soulmates” was just malarkey, that, if and when she was ready to find love, it would be on her own terms.  Yet, for some reason, the idea that the person that the universe had decided she was meant to be with was someone like Sherlock, someone who could never love her, gave her pause.  “If you don’t mind my asking, what did it feel like for you, finding your soulmate?”

“It was rather mundane.  I registered my mark, and waited six months before they informed me that they had found my match.  I met with Alfred, and, well, it was nothing special, no fireworks, no thunderbolt.  Just two people sitting and having tea together.  After about a month, I started to realize that I was actually excited for our meetings.  I was looking forward to seeing him, and, at the end of the day, it was getting harder and harder for us to part ways.  After a while I found that he was the first person I thought of when I woke up and the last person I thought of before I went to sleep.  Being apart made me unbelievably sad, yet I was excited because I knew that I’d see him again soon.  When he told me that he felt the same way, I knew that he was the one that I was going to spend the rest of forever with.”

“You’re so lucky to have such a relationship with someone.  I hope to find that with someone one day.  Obviously, it won’t be Sherlock, but maybe someone out there will share that with me.”

“Sherlock may be difficult to deal with when you first meet him, but he’s a good man.  It just takes a little bit of work to see that,” Penny insisted, taking Molly’s hand.

“I know.  I’ve seen that man, the man that cares about and protects the people close to him, but I’m not one of those people.  But that’s okay.  We can remain colleagues; we can just keep working together as we always have to help people, but we’ll never have what you and Alfred have.  And that’s okay,” Molly insisted. 

“As long as you’re happy dear, whether or not you find that happiness with Sherlock or some other person shouldn’t matter.”  Penny reached forward and patted Molly’s arm.  “You’re a sweet girl; you deserve happiness.”

“Thank you, Penny.”  Molly gave her a small, wistful smile.  “Well, I should probably get ready for bed then.  Good night.”

“Good night, dear.”

Molly thought about everything Penny had just said to her.  She was right, of course.  Having someone as wonderful as Alfred to spend the rest of her life with would be nice, but she didn’t need that to be happy.  She was perfectly content with the solitary life she had now.  She had her job, her friends, her cat.  She didn’t need a soulmate to complete her life. 

When she returned to the room, she was greeted with the sight of Sherlock standing in the middle of the room in nothing but a bath towel that was perhaps a bit too small.  Molly’s eyes widened. 

“What in the world are you doing?” she nearly shouted.

“Getting ready for bed, of course.  You didn’t expect me to sleep in my clothes did you?” was his indignant reply. 

“I told you that Penny was going to lend us some of their clothes,” Molly retorted, holding out the neatly folded clothes.

“I don’t sleep in clothes.  I find them to be very restricting.”

“Well, for the sake of decency, can you at least put on some pants?” she asked.

“Fine, I will only wear the pajama bottoms,” Sherlock agreed, begrudgingly taking a pair from Molly’s hand.

“That’s all I ask,” she responded. 

Anything else she may have been planning to say was quickly forgotten as Sherlock dropped his towel, the only thing keeping him decent, right there in the middle of the room.  Molly was stunned into silence but couldn’t bring herself to look away.  She stood there wide-eyed and speechless.  Sherlock smirked as he pulled the elastic waistband up slowly over his legs.

“Perhaps these won’t be necessary after all,” he said in his deep baritone. 

His voice brought Molly out of her state of shock.  Quickly, she took the rest of the clothes with her to the bathroom to get ready for bed herself. 

Sherlock couldn’t help but feel a smug sense of satisfaction at the reaction he had gotten from the petite pathologist.  So, she wasn’t completely immune to him after all.  He wasn’t exactly sure why that made him just a tiny bit proud.  John was always telling him how men and women alike found him physically attractive, but he had never cared about what people thought of him. 

Sherlock drew back the sheet and laid supine on the right side of the bed, steepling his fingers just beneath his chin.  He tried to clear his mind, as per his usual routine; however, thoughts of the events of the day came drifting up.  One person in particular kept popping up. 

Today, he had learned more about Molly Hooper than he’d ever intended to.  He had seen her in a light very different from the harsh fluorescent ones at St. Bart’s.  Until recently, he had only ever thought of her in a professional manner.  Sure, she was one of the more competent pathologists that he worked with.  Sure, she was one of the smarter people that he associated with.  Sure, he knew that he could always count on her to get him the results he needed whenever he needed them.  She was just another person he could use in his investigative pursuits.  However, today had shown him that there was an entirely different side to her that he had never known.  He didn’t want to delve any deeper into what these thoughts meant. 

Sherlock was so distracted by his thoughts, he did not realize that Molly had returned until she was standing directly by the bed, her hands on her hips. 

“I guess you’ve picked a side then,” she observed.  “Well, just make sure you stay on your side tonight.”

As she walked around the bed to her side, Sherlock noticed that she had on only a T-shirt, which barely reached her midthigh.  He gulped. 

“Have no fear, Dr. Hooper.  I’ve no intention of moving from this position for the rest of the night.”

Satisfied with his answer, Molly crawled under the sheet as well and settled in with her back to Sherlock.  She took a deep breath.  Everything would be just fine.  She’s just sleep, and, by the time she woke up in the morning, this would all be over.  She closed her eye and tried to force herself to sleep, but she couldn’t relax knowing that Sherlock was lying so close behind her.  Nothing about this felt right.  They were like two strangers.  What should have been an intimate interaction felt cold and distant.  How could this man be her soulmate if they couldn’t even share a bed for one night? 

Molly struggled to get comfortable.  She stared straight ahead at the wall, listening for any sign of movement from the person behind her.  It was only when she heard slowed breathing and soft sores behind that she managed to relax enough for sleep to find her. 

* * *

Sunlight streamed into the room through the light curtains, falling directly onto Sherlock’s face.  As his sleep-addled mind cleared, he became aware of the scent lemon and lavender drifting up to him.  He also became aware of the fact that his arms were currently wrapped around something that was definitely not a pillow.  Sherlock attempted to move but found himself unable to.  Slowly opening his eyes, he looked down to see Molly Hooper, her back pressed up against him.  His first instinct was to immediately push her as far away from him as possible.  However, something stopped him from doing so.  Instead, he took time to catalogue everything: the smell of her hair, the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the feel of her body so close to his.  He told himself that it was to hone his observational skills; he would never admit that he wanted to be able to remember this moment.  Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. 

“Come on out for breakfast, dears,” Penny called through the door. 

At that, Molly began to stir in his arms.  Quickly, Sherlock moved away from her sleeping form and untangled himself from the sheets. 

“We’ll be right there,” he answered, sitting up at the edge of the bed. 

“I’ll go get dressed then,” Molly said, as she gathered her clothes and walked out the room.

Sherlock took a deep, calming breath.  For the first time in his life, he felt unsure, unsure of what had just happened, unsure of why he had allowed it to happen, unsure of what to do to make sure it never happened again. 

* * *

 As Molly emerged from the bathroom, she was welcomed by the scent of a full English breakfast in the works.  When she reached the kitchen, she found Penny pouring out four mugs of coffee as Sherlock stood at the stove, cracking eggs into a hot pan.  He had on a small, blue apron adorned with images of various breakfast foods.  Molly couldn’t suppress the smile the crept on face. 

“Good morning, Penny, Sherlock,” she greeted, as she picked up two mugs to help bring to the table.  “Where’s Alfred?”

“He’s outside looking at the car, obviously,” Sherlock responded from behind them. 

“Right,” Molly answered, smile quickly disappearing.  “I’ll just bring him one of these.”  With that, she hurried out the door.  She found Alfred out front, looking under the bonnet of the car. 

“Morning, Molly,” the older man called when he saw her walking towards him.

“I brought you some coffee,” she announced, holding a mug out to him when he reached for it.  “So what seems to be the problem?” she asked, nodding toward the car. 

“Just a little leak in the radiator and a dead battery; I can have it fixed in a jiffy,” Alfred said, putting the coffee down to get back to work. 

“Do you need any help?” Molly offered.

“Well, if you don’t mind getting a little dirty, that would be great.”

With Molly’s assistance, the car was fixed just as Sherlock and Penny finished preparing breakfast.  After they finished eating and thanking the Haverfords for their hospitality, Sherlock and Molly drove back to the city.  Sherlock dropped Molly off at her flat and drove off without so much as a word. 

* * *

 That night, sleep eluded Molly once again as she lay alone in her own bed.  Their date had not gone exactly as she thought it would.  She had actually enjoyed herself.  It had been so long since she had spent the day outside just enjoying herself.  She had felt close to her father again, something she hadn’t felt in so long.  Everything had been going so well until that night.  Lying there beside Sherlock made her realize that there was no way they could be anything other than colleagues.  There would always be a distance between them, a distance that neither of them was willing to cross. 

But then, something happened that morning.  As she had slowly begun to wake up, she had become aware of a firm, solid presence behind her.  Sometime in the night, Sherlock had wound up pulling her into a tight embrace.  She could feel him pressed up against her back, his strong arms wrapped around her small frame.  He smelled of leather and musk with a hint of bergamot.  His hold had been tight, firm but not enough to make her uncomfortable.  She knew she should have pulled away immediately, but she felt safe and comforted in his arms.  She didn’t want to tell herself it was true, but she could have sworn that, for a split second, Sherlock seemed to have pulled her just a bit closer, held her a bit tighter.  But that was impossible.  He would never do that.  What had happened was clearly a fluke.  There was no need for her to think about this anymore.  She and Sherlock were colleagues and nothing else.  They would have three more “dates,” then move on with their lives; their only interactions would be in the lab for work.  That was it.  At least, that what she told herself.  As she slowly drifted off to sleep, she could feel Sherlock wrapped around her. 


	6. Talking Bodies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooooooo. So sorry this took so long, but hey, at least it’s not a year. I’m heading into crunch time before graduation, so the next chapter might take a while to get out, but I’m working on it, so don’t despair. Thank you all for reading this far, and I hope you stick to it until the end. Happy reading!

Molly put down her cup of tea and looked at her best friend.  A week had passed since her last meeting with Sherlock, and Meena had been dying for the details.  The two women now sat at the pathologist’s kitchen table, sharing some biscuits and fresh honey as Molly recounted the entire tale. 

“So…You two shared a bed huh?”  Meena asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at Molly. 

Meena was bursting with excitement.  She knew how Molly felt about Sherlock.  Before this whole experience, everybody knew that Molly had been quite taken by the brooding detective.  How could she not be?  He was handsome and mysterious, his eyes were ever-changing blue green oceans, and his voice was enough to make any person fall for him.  But, most importantly, he was brilliant.  Molly had always valued brains over beauty.  She had had many beautiful boyfriends in the past, but none of those relationships had lasted because none of them had challenged her intellectually.  Then, along came Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.  With him, Molly found someone she with whom she could speak without having to constantly explain herself.  She could speak freely and know that he understood.  And, for his part, Sherlock was constantly posing intriguing questions for Molly to answer. 

“Yes, but nothing happened.  We slept on separate sides of the bed, kept it perfectly professional, he took me home, and we haven’t spoken since,” Molly explained exasperatedly.  Why did she ever tell Meena anything?

“You know, sleeping together is the opposite of professional,” her friend pointed out.

“Well what’s done is done; there’s no undoing it.  And, seeing as we’ll never be doing that again, I think we should all just move forward and forget it ever happened.”  Molly was certain that that was exactly what Sherlock had done.  There was no way he was still thinking about what had happened between the two of them. 

“Well, what are you gonna do for your next date?  How can you top that?”  Meena grabbed another biscuit and slathered it with honey. 

“I haven’t really thought about it.  I heard that there was a very interesting science exhibit coming to the Science Museum.  It’s entirely dedicated to the human body.  There’s all sorts of plastinates all made of real human bodies.  I was hoping to go see that before they left.  I think that would be fun,” Molly replied thoughtfully. 

“What?  No more torturing the consulting detective?” Meena asked.  “How interesting.”

“Just because I’m not actively trying to torment him does not mean that my feelings about him and this whole arrangement have changed.  I just think it’s a bit childish to play all these juvenile jokes on each other,” Molly explained defensively. 

“Well the Science Museum sounds like it’d be right up Sherlock’s alley,” Meena pointed out.

“I want to go to the exhibit because I happen to be very fascinated by the human body.  This is something I want to do for me.  If Sherlock also happens to be interested, that’s none of my business,” the pathologist insisted.    

“Okay.  Whatever you say,” Meena conceded, throwing her hands up in defeat.  She knew that, if Molly made up her mind about something, there was no way to convince her of anything else, and, if her friend wanted to believe that she had not taken Sherlock into account when deciding on this date, Meena would let her go right on believing it.  “So, tell me more about what Sherlock is like in bed.”

* * *

“What do you think, Sherlock?”

At the sound of John calling his name, Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts.  “What was that, John?”

“I just told you that I want to surprise Mary with a romantic weeklong holiday to Bali next week.  She said she’s been there before on business but wasn’t able to actually enjoy it.  So, I wanted to take her back for a real holiday, and I was wondering if you—”

“John, that sounds like a lovely idea, but, unfortunately, I won’t be able to come with you.  I have my monthly meeting with Molly next week, and our schedules do not permit any rescheduling.  The two of you will have to go without me,” Sherlock stated regretfully, getting up from his chair to look out the window. 

“Of course we’re going without you.  That’s what makes it romantic.  I was going to ask if you could watch Rosie for the week,” John explained.  The fact that Sherlock had assumed that he’d been invited to tag along on their romantic getaway made John wonder if maybe he and his wife had been spending too much time with the detective. 

At this, Sherlock turned back to face his friend.  “Yes, of course I can watch after my goddaughter for a week,” he assured his best friend.  “In fact, I can bring her along with me to meet Molly.”

“I don’t think I want my daughter traipsing around London with you and Molly on one of your dates.  Things always seem to go awry when the two of you are together.”  John looked uncertain.

“Nonsense, John.  Molly has decided that we will spend our next outing at the Science Museum for the afternoon to see some limited time exhibit.  Nothing to go awry,” Sherlock remarked with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “There is no need to worry.  Your daughter will be in good hands.”

“Are you sure Molly won’t mind having Rosie along with you for your date?” John asked dubiously. 

“John, as I have said before, these are not dates.  They are government mandated rendezvous.  There is not emotional context.  Just two people being forced to spend time with one another.  Now please, stop asking stupid questions,” Sherlock responded, frustrated.  He ran his hands through his hair in annoyance.

“Alright, if you say so,” John said, raising his hands in resignation.  “Well, I’m going to head home and start getting things sorted for Bali.”  Shaking his head, he left his friend in his flat to brood. 

* * *

 “I hope you don’t mind my bringing Rosie along with me,” Sherlock said as he picked up the little girl in question.  They had just entered the museum, and Rosie had nearly run off in the excitement of being there.  “John decided to whisk Mary away for a holiday, so, not only have I lost my two partners in investigation, but I have been left with babysitting duty.”

“It’s fine.  I think this could be a very educational day for Rosie, if she isn’t too scared, that is.  These are real, dead bodies after all,” Molly said as they walked into the exhibit.  She was concerned that the child was a bit too young for this exhibit. 

“Oh I assure you, she will be fine.  She is already four years old, and, with her parents’ occupations and mine, my goddaughter is perfectly comfortable with the subject matter.”  As if to prove his point, Rosie wriggled her way out of his arms. 

“Uncle ‘Lock, I want to see that one,” she said.  She took the detective by the hand and pulled him to the nearest figure, the entire cardiovascular system suspended as though still in a human body.  “Look, it’s a heart,” the toddler exclaimed.

“That’s right, Rosie!” Sherlock replied.  “And what is the name of the vessels that take the blood away from the heart?”

“Ar’eries!” she answered happily.

Sherlock beamed proudly.  “As you can see, she is far smarter than most children her age,” he stated as he turned to face Molly.  “Now, let’s move along.  Shall we?”

The trio spent the rest of the afternoon, wandering around the exhibit observing all of the plastinates.  Rosie was fascinated by it all and relentlessly asked questions, and Molly was happy to answer every question the young girl threw at her.  She was always happy to see young minds fascinated by the art of science and the human body.  Sherlock watched with an amused expression as Rosie dragged Molly around the museum, insisting that Molly explain everything to her. 

After several hours of exploration around the museum, they had seen all there was to see in the exhibit as well as a few others at the museum.  Rosie was beginning to tire from the day’s excursion.  She was now clinging to Sherlock’s leg, allowing him to practically drag her along. 

“I think it’s time we call it a day,” Sherlock suggested.  “Rosie seems to have had her fill of knowledge for the day,” he added, gesturing to the small child attached to his leg.  He bent down to detached his goddaughter from his leg, opting to carry her in his arms instead. 

“It would seem as though you’re right,” Molly agreed.  With that, the three of them made their way to the exit.   

“Uncle ‘Lock, I’m hungry,” Rosie said as they left the building. 

“Is it really almost six?” her godfather asked after checking his watch.  “I didn’t realize so much time had passed.  Very well, I will take you out to eat wherever you want,” he replied. 

“Invite Molly to come too,” the toddler instructed, taking his face in her hands. 

“Why?” he asked through squished lips.

“Because Mommy always says you have to be nice to people that you like, and I like Molly,” Rosie answered, looking at the small pathologist from her perch high in Sherlock’s arms. 

“I’m sure Molly has other, more important things to do than to join us for dinner.”  The two of them looked at Molly. 

“I think dinner would be lovely,” she stated, smiling at warmly at the pair.  “Where to?”

“There’s an Italian place near here,” Sherlock replied.  “I know the owner, so we’re sure to have a nice meal.”

“Italian it is,” Molly agreed.  The trio walked off into the night, making small talk on their way to the restaurant. 

* * *

 After dinner, Rosie had insisted that they go out for ice cream as well.  Sherlock, being unable to deny his goddaughter of anything, conceded.  He and Molly sat on a bench on the waterfront holding ice cream cones with Rosie seating between them rattling on about all the things she had enjoyed about the day as she licked at her own cone.  Sherlock listened attentively, and chimed in every time the little girl struggled to say a word or remember a certain fact. 

“My favorite part about today is that Molly came with us,” Rosie stated happily, swinging her legs back and forth.  “You’re really nice.  That’s why Uncle ‘Lock likes you.”

Molly fought the urge to laugh out loud at the statement.  She patted the little toddler’s head.  “That’s very sweet of you to say.” 

“I do not like Molly,” Sherlock responded indignantly.  “She is my colleague, for whom I have great respect, but I most definitely do not _like_ her.”  He was so mortified by his goddaughter’s declaration, he did not notice the look of amusement on Molly’s face. 

“Yes you do, I can tell by the way you look at her,” the young girl replied, matter-of-factly. 

“I look at her in a very normal way,” the detective insisted.

“No, you look at her special.  Plus, you wore your special purple shirt today because you think you look best in it,” Rosie answered, still happily eating her ice cream, not knowing the distress she was currently causing her godfather.  “It’s okay, though.  She likes you too.”

Up until now, Molly had been quite delightedly watching the exchange between the two of them.  Now, however, she was no longer amused.  “Rosie, dear, I do not like your godfather.  I merely think that he is a clever man and a brilliant detective.”  Molly could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.  The little girl’s words had struck a nerve. 

Rosie looked between the two adults sitting beside her.  She shook her head in disapproval.  “Adults are silly.  They’re not very good at seeing other people,” she said.  With that, she hopped off the bench.  “Uncle ‘Lock, I think we need to go now.” 

“Indeed,” Sherlock agreed, gathering the child into his arms.  “Will you be needing a ride home?” he asked Molly.

“Oh no.  I’ll get home just fine,” she replied as she collected her things.  She turned to leave. 

“Tell her to call you to tell you when she gets home safe,” Rosie whispered loudly into his ear.

“Do let me know when you get home safe,” he said as she walked away. 

Molly turned back and smiled at them.  “I’ll be sure and do that.”  With that, the party parted ways for the night. 

Later that night, on opposite sides of the city, a consulting detective and a forensic pathologist found themselves unable to sleep, the words of a sweet, little toddler swirled in their minds.  Could she be right?  Was there even the slightest possibility that what she had said rang true?  They couldn’t shake the feeling that, perhaps, the young child was on to something.  Nestled snugly in her bed, that little toddler slept soundly, without a care in the world. 

 


End file.
